


Of Dance Practice And How To Avoid It

by Merixcil



Category: Kpop - Fandom, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a million things Namjoon would rather do than go to dance practice, Seokjin for instance</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Dance Practice And How To Avoid It

Seokjin can hear the rain pounding on the lip of the window even through the pillow he has determinedly wrapped around his head to keep the light out of his eyes. His alarm gave up ringing ten minutes ago and much as he knows that the longer he waits, the harder it’s going to be to get any bathroom time in before dance practice, he can’t quite persuade himself that his bed is worth leaving. 

From somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the tumble of saucepans that herald Yoongi’s attempts to make breakfast ring out, cutting across the daze his body is frantically trying to slip into and putting a definitive end to any attempts to go back to sleep. 

Groaning, Seokjin wraps himself in his duvet, and rolls to the floor with a soft thump. 

He disentangles his legs from the quilt cover and stumbles to his feet, pyjama trousers hanging halfway down his arse and left eye stuck shut with sleep. Blearily, he surveys the six other beds in the room as they lie in their early morning disarray. Yoongi’s sheets – a relic from his past life as Daegu’s resident shit stirrer – are worn thing enough that he can see the mattress through them even in the foggy half-light and Taehyung’s bed is stacked so high with plushies and action figures Seokjin thinks that it’s a miracle there’s space left for a person to sleep. He plods over to the curtains and throws them open, casting long shadows and muted sunlight across the room.

They were all supposed to be up and out of bed 20 minutes ago, so it’s not without confusion that Seokjin realises the bed next to his is still occupied. He frowns, it’s unlike Namjoon to be up late – umlike Namjoon to be anything other than the first one up. 

Seokjin walks over and pokes the blob of blankets experimentally. 

Nothing. 

He tries again, a little harder, and still he’s met with a grand total of no response. He shakes the Namjoon-shaped lump a little, but it’s only when he shoves it hard enough to roll him over that he’s met with any indication that his boyfriend is still alive. A pathetic sniffle and a half-hearted sneeze emanate from within the blankets and Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“Come on! We have schedule today, Hobeom hyeong’s not gonna let you off because you got a bit of a cold.”

“I’m really sick though hyeong,” Namjoon mumbles from somewhere within his cocoon. 

“Yoongi had an appendectomy a month ago, he shouldn’t even be walking yet. If he can make it to dance practice then so can you.”

“But I can’t breathe,” whines Namjoon

“Neither could Jungkook for like a month after we debuted, get up!”

“But my head hurts,”

“Up!”

“But my throat hurts,”

“Up!”

“But…but…hyeong!” 

He sounds so weak and pathetic, Seokjin can’t help but feel his resolve weaken a little. Sighing, he reaches out to pull the covers away from Namjoon’s face, “I can talk to Hobeom if you like. If you’re really ill I’m sure-“

He is interrupted rather abruptly when the hitherto sluggish Namjoon apparently grows several extra sets of limbs and wraps them around Seokjin, dragging him under the covers before he has time to so much as yelp in surprise. 

“Ew, Namjoon please, I don’t want to get sick too,” Seokjin tries to disentangle himself from Namjoon’s bearhug, but that’s easier said than done. There are arms around his neck and legs locked firmly around his midsection and whilst the urge to remove himself from the fall out zone of Namjoon’s cold is strong, Seokjin can’t deny that the muscle definition in his tensed arms is at least a little bit interesting.

Namjoon pulls back to look Seokjin in the eyes, “you won’t get sick hyeong, promise!”

He’s smiling wide, well defined dimples contrasting his messy morning hair. His eyes look bright, his skin looks good. If Seokjin didn’t know any better he would almost say…

“You’re not sick,” he sighs. Namjoon’s grin somehow manages to get even wider as he crawls on top of him, shaking his head. 

“You should know better by now hyeong,”

“I can’t believe you’d toy with my emotions like that!”

“Really?”

“No, not even slightly - this is exactly what I’ve come to expect from you.”

Namjoon shrugs and leans down to plant a kiss at the point that Seokjin’s jawline meets his neck. Their bodies are still warm from sleep and it’s all too easy to let early morning pliancy slip back into his limbs.

“You wanting to have sex is not a valid reason to miss a day of dance practice,” Seokjing murmurs halfheartedly. 

“Good thing we have a better excuse then.” Seokjin tries to roll his eyes as Namjoon’s lips begin to tread a trail to his collarbone but the bed is so warm, Namjoon is so welcoming. 

And dance practice is so very awful.

Teeth tug lightly at his dip of his shoulder and Seokjin breathes out low and long, “yeah, we’re sick, we can’t possibly be expected to dance today.”

“So very fucking sick,” 

“I can’t quite believe how sick we are“

Namjoon leans in and kisses Seokjin properly, hands coming up to tug lightly as his hair. Seokjin could skip the morning breath but he loves Namjoon’s smell at this time of day, when he’s still unsullied by the stress and kerfuffle of song lyrics and choreography. He slips a hand under Namjoon’s shirt and breathes deep at the relief of skin on skin contact, excited by the prospect of more, feeling their bodies begin to stir under their thin night garments.

A loud banging on the bedroom door drags them both rather sharply back to reality. Namjoon glances over his shoulder and they both hear the doorknob begin to turn. 

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters, drawing his duvet tighter around the pair of them as a face appears around the door.

“Are you guys ever getting up or-“

“WE’RE SICK!” they shriek at Jungkook. 

“They’re fucking,” Jungkook shouts back to the rest of the group before beating a hasty retreat.

Namjoon buries his face in the crook of Seokjin’s neck and his shoulders shake with giggles. “We may have used that excuse a few times too many,” 

Seokjin shrugs and lets his hands fall to Namjoon’s waist, positioning him to straddle his hips.

“It still works,” he replies. And after that-

After that neither of them say anything intelligent for a while.

 

They make it to the studio some three hours later, fucked out and good for nothing. They sit on the sidelines and Seokjin curls himself into Namjoon’s lap whilst they watch the others fight their way through the tricksy choreography. 

“No wonder we’re not very good at dancing, we’re always so sick! We miss everything,”

Smiling, Seokjin shoves an elbow into Namjoon’s sides to shut him up and settles down to watch the others do all the hard work.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the rather marvelous Muna after she couldn't think of an ending for her own fic...
> 
> ...and then I botched the ending *facepalm*


End file.
